


Enjoy The Silence

by Pearls1975



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Other, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2012-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-14 15:04:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearls1975/pseuds/Pearls1975
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John sits in the empty flat and contemplates Sherlock's empty chair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enjoy The Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little drabble that I had to get off my chest. Let me know what you think.

Miracle

I walked slowly into the flat, and looked around. I cursed the sun shining through the window. It wasn't supposed to shine on funeral days. The dust motes sparkled as they passed through the sunbeams.

I sighed and closed the door behind me and hung my jacket. I hobbled over to my chair and sat. The quiet, the lonely and bitter quiet. Resting my head on my hand, I looked over at his chair. Indented in the seat where he would squat (that's why we can't have nice things, Sherlock!), I imagined him there now, his long fingers steepled under his chin, eyes closed, deep in thought.

'Shhh..' he would say. 'Quiet John.'

I would just hum and watch him. How he would balance himself on that chair and be perfectly still. No shaking, barely breathing, like he wasn't real at all.

Then, he would suddenly open his eyes...oh those mysterious eyes. I caught myself on several occasions staring at his eyes, wondering what color they were that day. Were they gray to match the London fog? Were they blue, to match the London sky on a lazy Sunday afternoon? Were they green to match the ocean on an angry, overcast day? What ever color they were, they held all of Sherlock's emotions. People would say he didn't have emotions, but he did. I saw it, and I'm sure the people closest to him saw them. Mycroft, Molly, Lestrade. But I saw sadness in those eyes, and it was one of the most heartbreaking things I'd ever witness, next to...what had happened...

I swallowed hard and clenched my jaw. I knew I shouldn't try to fight the tears; there were going to be plenty shed, but I wanted this quiet moment. I closed my eyes and the tears went racing down my cheeks. But there he was squatting in the chair looking at me, almost staring right through me. He squinted then closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. I watched as he went into his thinking man mode again. His dark hair, perfectly tousled, his shirts perfectly pressed, his shoes perfectly shined...

It suddenly dawned on me, how meticulous he was about his appearance, without meaning to be. His shirts were never wrinkled, neither were his trousers. And it seemed his shoes were without scuffs. Did Mrs. Hudson sneak into our flat late at night and iron and shine his shoes? How did he keep so neat about himself, but the rest of him was in chaos?

Then I thought about all the episodes where he wouldn't leave the house for days, and he would laze about in that blue dressing gown, or worse my dressing gown, for Christ's sake. How he would sneak that out was beyond me. I finally just let him have it. There were a few times I wondered if maybe he would just leave his clothes at a cleaners and that's why he wouldn't go out for several days.

I laughed out loud and the noise scared me and I opened my eyes.

The chair was still empty.

'One more miracle, Sherlock, for me.'


End file.
